


Sleeping Charming

by Starbrow



Category: Disney Princesses, Gender/Sexbent Disney - Ripushko, Sleeping Beauty (1959)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:24:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbrow/pseuds/Starbrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Philippa finds a way to beat Maleficent's curse...on her own terms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping Charming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosencrantz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosencrantz/gifts).



_"Is it you, my Prince? You have waited a long while."_

_The Prince, charmed with these words, and much more with the manner in which they were spoken, knew not how to show his joy and gratitude; he assured her that he loved her better than he did himself._

_— The Sleeping Beauty in the Woods, Charles Perrault_

~*~

As Merryweather finished her blessing, such as it was, a hush fell over the palace, the awfulness of Maleficent’s curse sinking in with a sickening dread. Nobody knew what to say. What _was_ there to say, when one’s prince was destined to certain doom?

Huddled against her father’s side, Princess Philippa peeked out from under his arm and stared about her at the hall of brightly dressed people, the three woebegone fairies, the banners strewn around to welcome the birth of the new prince. Wasn’t anybody worried the evil fairy would come back to finish the job? If she could curse the baby so easily, what was stopping her from returning and killing him on the spot? But no one was screaming and running for cover; it was as if they had all been struck by lightning.

The other king and queen were hugging the baby tightly, their faces sad and stricken. Philippa was tempted to go to them and join in the embrace; after all, wasn’t she going to be the one to break the curse someday? She was Aurin’s betrothed; it was her job. (Mama had carefully explained to her yesterday that _betrothed_ meant she would marry the prince one day when she was grown, and they would rule their kingdoms together. Philippa had nodded—this sounded a great deal like what her father did, and she was going to be queen after him—but she hoped she would at least _like_ the prince a little. It would be awful if he turned out to be a brat or a liar or a wicked person.)

He had seemed like a very nice baby, when she bent over him, her braid slipping over her shoulder and swinging above the cradle, and gave him her gift, whispering that he wasn’t to worry, she would be a good queen to him and look after him and his kingdom and keep them all safe and sound. He’d cooed and batted at her braid, and she was glad he was a happy sort of crown prince, and not one of those fussy, noisy babies.

Philippa wondered if she would even get the chance to know what little Aurin would be like when he was older, before Maleficent got to him. He was so small, and it would be such a long time before he grew up. The grown ups around him were whispering now, people with long robes and grave expressions surrounding the king and queen, the fairies fluttering distractedly beside them, and Philippa thought she could make out the words “cottage” and “birthday”. She very much hoped whatever plans they made, they kept the prince far away from Maleficent.

“I’ll keep you safe,” she vowed under her breath, tiptoeing half a step toward the throng around Aurin. “I won’t let her win.”

She cast one last look at the sweet sleeping baby before her father hurried her out of the hall.

~*~

_Sixteen years later…_

Philippa made a face at the ballgown laid out on the bed for her—the skirts were sure to get tangled underfoot, and she’d have to wear those dreadfully uncomfortable heels with the dress —but hopefully it would be a short night and she could retire as soon as the introductions were made and the feast was over. In her two decades of court life, the princess was quite used to compromises; a night of fancy dress now and then was counterbalanced by days of practical clothing when she was with her own family or ladies in waiting. Nobody who knew the royal family well was shocked anymore to see her wandering around in her hunting gear, a bow and quiver strapped to her back and her favorite feathered hat perched jauntily on her head. King Stefan had all but given up teasing her about it when they encountered each other at the stables.

Tonight was one of those “now and then” nights, albeit a particularly important one, and she cast one regretful glance back at her comfortable leather riding boots before reaching for the ribbon that bound her hair up in its braid.

With a sudden burst, the room exploded in glittering colors of red, green, and blue. Three voices chattered all at the same time at her. “You must come at once!”

The fairies were the very last visitor Philippa would have expected in her chambers at King Stefan’s palace. She had not seen them in sixteen years! It was so long ago that all the events of that terrible day felt like a dream, if it weren’t for the patent evidence of the prince’s missing presence at court for all these years. She often wondered where they had hidden him and what sort of person he had grown up to be. Well, she would find out tonight when she met him, after sunset, when Maleficent’s curse would either come true or be undone. Without a curse to worry about, Philippa might have felt a touch of nervousness at the thought of the meeting itself and finding out who exactly she was to marry; it had been greatly on her mind all these years, as each birthday ticked by and she grew older and older, and all the other noble gentlewomen had wed and begun their households, leaving only the princess to be single at such an advanced age as twenty-one.

But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was beating the curse.

“What is it?” she asked the fairy in red, who seemed to be in charge—Flora?

“We cannot find Aurin! We’ve searched all over the castle—brought him here ourselves not an hour ago—he didn’t want to come, but he must, you know—and oh, I’m afraid of the worst!” Flora was fluttering and shaking fairy dust all around her in her distress. “You haven’t seen him? No? Then I’m afraid he’s gone off to that cottage! Merryweather, I _told_ you to keep a lookout at the gate!”

“What cottage? Why didn’t he want to come?” asked Philippa, bewildered.

“It’s that girl he saw in the woods yesterday,” wailed Merryweather, glaring at Flora. “It would be just like Maleficent to fool him that way. Red feathered cap, indeed! Dressed up in hunting gear! And he wants that over a princess.”

“Shhh!” said Fauna, glancing apologetically at Philippa.

But the princess’s eyes grew wide and she covered her mouth in horror. “Oh no! No! Maleficent must have seen _me_ in the forest yesterday when I was riding! I didn’t see anything but squirrels and birds—I never met the prince—but look!” Running to the wardrobe, she threw open the doors and found the cap she wore when riding out to practice her archery. “Does this look like what he described?”

Flora looked as horrorstruck as she. “One and the same. Maleficent used your likeness, then, to trap the prince. They had planned to meet at the cottage this evening—we must go there at once!”

Philippa had already started stripping off her outer kirtle and corset—there was no way she could mount a rescue mission in such cumbersome armour—and with a moment’s pause she decided the skirt had to go too, leaving her in the long shirtsleeves, tunic, and leggings she preferred to wear on less formal occasions. Her sturdy leather boots tugged on (she was not sad to leave behind the dainty heeled slippers that she would have worn tonight at the ball), Philippa had only to strap her bow and arrows across her back and toss the red cloak around her shoulders before she was prepared to meet any foe. For good measure, she placed the feathered cap on her head, not to be outdone by Maleficent’s plagiarism. “Lead the way!”

~*~

Aurin was not at the cottage, and neither was Maleficent...but her goons were. “Go!” cried Philippa, notching an arrow on the string. “I’ll take care of them—find Aurin!”

“The locator spell!” Fauna flew to one of the windows, disappeared with a pop, and reappeared a moment later carrying a large spellbook. “You’re sure you can handle them?”

“Of course!” Already several minions lay scattered around the entrance to the cottage, and Philippa was methodically taking down each in turn as they appeared in the doorway. “Now hurry!”

A determined grin tugged at her lips as she disposed of the evil creatures one by one. This was the moment she had waited for, the moment when all of the hard days training her aching muscles to stand just one more minute holding the bowstring taut, just one more run to the target and plucking the arrow and running back and aiming for the bullseye once more, at last were all put to use, to save her prince and his kingdom…

“Enjoying yourself, princess?”

Philippa froze, and a cold shiver rippled down her spine at the voice. She had heard that voice once before, when…

“You may cease this little game, for I have already won. Oh, and your toy is quite useless against magic, you will find.”

It was everything she feared; Philippa couldn’t move a muscle to resist the loathsome fairy. “You haven’t won yet!” she tried to shout.

Maleficent laughed, a horrible icy laugh. “But I have! For your precious Aurin lies dead in the castle, or as good as dead, when you are my prisoner forever.”

 _Why not just kill me right now?_ thought Philippa fiercely.

“I would if I could,” said Maleficent as though through gritted teeth. “But unfortunately, you seem to have your own fairy godmothers whose gifts prevent you from dying by magic’s hand. Never fear, I will exact my revenge in time. I have a great deal of patience. And for now…”

She appeared before Philippa, raised her hand, and the world blackened and fell away.

~*~

_Thank heaven for fairies_ , was Philippa’s battle cry as she raced through the dark castle, sword and shield in hand, protected on all sides by the plucky Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather, and the gifts of her own fairy godmothers, whose existence (much less blessings) came as a complete surprise to her. But there would be time later to ask her parents about them. Aurin’s fairies were so very brave to rescue her, and now she could repay the debt by helping them rescue Aurin.

They would beat Maleficent yet, and God willing, the future she had predicted to Philippa in the dungeon would not come true. It was if the evil witch was mocking the princess’s age, how young the prince was, how old Philippa was to be an unmarried heir to the throne already, and how the whole world would shudder to see, a hundred years’ hence, a crouched old woman emerge from the Forbidden Mountain, to awaken the young teenaged prince with a kiss. No, there would be no such fate in store for her. She would break the curse or die in the attempt.

Through the portcullis leapt Samson, and Philippa urged her faithful horse on faster, faster down to the road to reach the castle before Maleficent discovered they were gone.

But they were already too late. A forest of thick black thorns sprang up before their eyes just as they reached the road to the castle. Desperate, Philippa took up the sword the fairies had given her, though it felt awkward and heavy to her unpracticed hand, and began hacking at the twisting spikes. They seemed to reach out and try to pluck her into their depths, as though they were alive. Philippa swore, nearly losing her balance from one wicked swing. Every moment spent battling these accursed thorns was one more moment Maleficent could plot against them, get to Aurin, win...

A sea of green flames billowed around Samson’s legs as they emerged from the hedge. “Now shall you deal with _me_ , O Princess, and all the powers of Hell!” proclaimed the sepulchral voice of Maleficent. As she spoke, a thunderous burst of magic sent her shooting into the dark clouds swirling above her head. Then out of the piles of purplish smoke rose a figure so terrible, so fearsome, that it could indeed have come straight from the bowels of Hades: a shadowy dragon, as tall as the castle itself, with eyes that glowed green and wings that dripped poison.

Philippa had no time to be terrified. She held her shield before her, raised her too-heavy sword as far as she could, and prepared to fight.

It was a horribly unfair battle, even if she had been a halfway decent swordswoman, and she scrambled to dodge and block the fiery blasts Maleficent shot at her. The thorned forest went up in flames around her; cornered, she climbed up the rocky gorge to escape the ring of fire, followed at every turn by the dragon’s roars. Every desperate swing brought her closer and closer to the end of the narrow ledge. She fought to keep her footing, but the sword was too heavy—

A furious stream of fire sent the shield flying out of her left hand; thrown off balance by the sudden loss of the counterweight, Philippa flailed trying not to fall off the ledge into the flames below. The sword skittered out of her grasp. Next to her, Flora was fluttering and muttering something about the sword of truth, but Philippa knew she was doomed if she attempted to win that way. No, she needed another way to defeat Maleficent, something she was actually good at. Her heart in her throat, she reached behind her back, unslung the bow still attached to the quiver by her side, and set an arrow to the string.

It flew straight and true into Maleficent’s heart. The dragon gave a hideous scream, shuddered, and tumbled to its death below.

~*~

“This way,” said Fauna, beckoning up the stairs. Torn from the sight of the palace and all its inhabitants frozen where they stood, Philippa followed the fairies along the winding staircase, up to the tower where they had laid Aurin out, seemingly asleep in the canopied bed.

She drew close to where he lay, taking in the sight of her betrothed for the first time since his christening. He was truly as beautiful as the legends had hinted, fair hair tumbled around his forehead and neck, smooth-faced with only the faintest suggestion of hair near his chin, a soft flush highlighting his defined cheekbones, a single rose clutched to his breast. He was truly the most beautiful thing Philippa had ever seen.

“Well go on!” said Flora. “Kiss him!”

Philippa bent over him. Sudden realization flooded her. “ _Kiss_ him?”

Merryweather stamped her foot, or would have if she’d been standing on the ground. “You know what you have to do to wake him! What are you waiting for?”

“But—but he doesn’t even _know_ me! What if he doesn’t want me to kiss him?”

Fauna smiled at her. “Of course he would want to kiss you. What prince wouldn’t?”

“And besides,” said Flora, “he already is in love with you, or your likeness at least.”

“It wasn’t really me he fell in love with then, is it?” Philippa raised her chin. “I won’t kiss him, so you’ll just have to find another way to wake him up.”

Merryweather sputtered angrily and went buzzing off around the room, while Flora sighed gustily. “I suppose I could whip up a spell, if you really insist. Lie down, dear, and I’ll tell you all about it…”

~*~

At first all was dark and shadowy, the way dreams often are, and everything seemed shrouded in a thick mist, which gradually began to lift. As light trickled in, penetrating the fog, the landscape of soft gray hills came into sight, illuminating the figures of trees and a shady glen all around. The grass was lush and green underfoot; Philippa could feel the dew under her toes and the crunch of fallen leaves as she walked under the canopy of the forest. The trees here were tall, ancient beings, letting in only the occasional ray of sunlight under their sprawled branches; their shade was cool and mossy and hushed.

She could hear the lilt of birdsong echoing across the forest, the step-step-skip of its piercing melody, the floating line of its descent. It drew her deeper in, this song too unearthly for birds, more dreamlike than any voice she had heard from human throats. She wanted more than anything to know where it came from.

And through the lines of trees at the edge of the valley, emerging through the mist like a figure from legend, came a young man, simply dressed in hues of black and white and gray. He walked bare-footed through the grass, the bright gold of his hair catching hold of the sunlight and gleaming like a precious metal. He was singing, his head tipped back, and the aching sounds echoed back from the hills and all throughout the glen till Philippa wanted to cry from the sheer loveliness.

He halted as they came face to face, staring at her with widening eyes and letting his song die on his lips. “I know you,” he breathed. “I walked with you, once, in another lifetime I think.”

“No,” said Philippa, shaking her head. “You knew someone who looked like me.” Even this thought could not keep her from smiling at the astonished prince. She held out her hand. “But I know you.”

Without hesitation, he took her by the hand and clutched her fingers tightly. “How?” he pleaded.

“I made a promise to keep you safe, once upon a time,” she said. His hand in hers sent a warming shiver up her arm. “I promised to remain true to you for the sake of my country, but I promised to save you from Maleficent because I knew even then you were mine to look after. You don’t remember—you were just a baby then—but I could never forget.”

With an eagerness that astonished her, he seized her other hand and swung her round and round, until she could not help but laugh at his joy. “But I saw you! I remember now! Just yesterday, in the forest—you promised to meet me at the cottage. And you’ve come, just as I knew you would!”

If only that were true! As she imagined how Aurin must view their meeting, Philippa said gently, “Visions are seldom all they seem. Maleficent was pretending to be me to trap you into falling under the curse. We discovered her plans, and in the end I defeated her once and for all.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and shook his head with growing horror, dropping her hands. She understood his astonishment at the truth of it, so plainly written across his face as her words sunk in. “But you—how can I love you so, when what I loved was evil?” He did not speak in censure; his disappointment was all in himself.

“Think,” she urged. “Have you ever seen me before?”

Through the shock and confusion, a glimmer of recognition flickered in the way he scanned her face, so intent and searching. “I could have sworn I’ve dreamed of you,” he said slowly. “The gleam in your eyes—it’s so familiar—oh, if only I could remember.”

“It would be a miracle if you did,” said Philippa, one hand pressed to her mouth as she held back hope. “You were much too young to remember anything.”

Aurin caught his breath. “It—it was only a dream, I thought…”

“What was a dream?”

“A little girl with a red braid and kind brown eyes,” he said, his voice lowering to nearly a whisper. “And she told me she would be a good queen and look after me and my kingdom, and keep me safe always.” He took a step closer, and his gaze never faltered. She choked back a sob. “I _know_ you, Philippa.”

“You know me,” she said, and it was her hands that wound their way around his waist and pulled him close, but it was he who bent his head over hers and found her mouth, turned up to his, and kissed her.

~*~

“They’re awake!” cried Merryweather.

“Oh goody!” Flora exclaimed with a flutter.

“I knew you could do it, dear,” said Fauna, giving a little twirl mid-air.

Everything still seemed hazy from where Philippa lay looking up at the vaulted ceiling. With a valiant effort, she emerged from the pile of cushions, to find Aurin next to her, sitting up and blinking and looking about him very much as she was. “Is it morning?” he said with a yawn and a grin.

“Have we been asleep long?” asked Philippa. Aurin looked not a day older, but there was no telling with sleeping spells.

“No time at all!” beamed Flora. “You’re just in time for the ball.”

“Ball,” groaned Philippa. “Don’t you have any more dragons for me to kill?”

"Goodness, I hope not."

She found herself tugged out of bed by Aurin, who couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “Come on,” he said, “we’ll do it together this time. The ball, I mean. Or dragons. Or whatever else. And we can be brave and charming and live happily ever after.”

“That’s a very nice ending, dear,” said Merryweather, and Philippa wouldn’t have wished for any other.

**Author's Note:**

> From the moment I saw the letter for this prompt, I knew I'd love to bring some of the beautiful genderbent princess artwork to life in a story. Sleeping Beauty is a legend I've done extensive research on before, and so I was intimately familiar with its gruesome origins and utter lack of consent. It was pure delight to take the bits and pieces of the Disney-ized version and turn them on their head in a way that gives the prince and princess more power over their own destiny. Hope you enjoyed it!


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